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Sept. 20, 2006 1971 was an eventful year for Chuck. He had gone from being a single college athlete, to a newlywed, completed basic training, and AIT, and now found himself taking his first plane ride to Cam Ranh Bay, Vietnam, Southeast Asia. He had grown up so sure of who he was and where he was going. He knew that his decisions determined his destiny, and had never complained or blamed anyone for where his choices took him. That would always remain true. There was a draft, he had a low number, Chuck the golden boy who had always led the pack had gambled and lost. He wrote to his wife everyday. His letters revealed little about the real life he experienced in VN. He talked about new friends, and food, and eventually the rain. He sent pictures of himself and his buddies in uniform and shorts. He talked of playing volleyball, and cards, and the one emotion that he could not hide was the loneliness. He missed his wife, he missed his family, and he missed the south. Chuck who had always found a way to make things right, just found a way to not tell his story. Truth created worry, and he continued his life long pattern of keeping it close to the vest, and as light as he could for everybody else's sake. He got R&R in Hawaii that January and Janie met him there. He had lived every minute for this, and they made the most of every second. At that time you could drive a few miles and find a private beach with a bluff that had a little path that wound down to the ocean creating a little room. They spent part of everyday there planning their babies, and their home, and a simple life. She left before him, he wanted it that way, and she told her best friend later that as her plane took off she had the most overwhelming feeling that she would never see him again, and she didn't. Chuck came home just short of a year after he left. She met him at the airport, and he was the last one off the plane. She was too young and innocent to see behind the beautiful eyes, and into the heart of a man who had been booed in Ft. Lewis, and later she would find out that the young man sitting beside him on the plane had asked to move to another seat. It looked like Chuck had come through the war unscathed, but inside he was falling apart. Deep, and penetrating survivors guilt pulled at him. He had seen a soldier pulled into the jungle by a tiger, had knelt by a young man who lay dying, he heard the young man's last words. The kid had whispered the name of the man who had shot him, he was one of our own, and finally, "tell Mama I love her". Chuck never told her this story until 20 years later when she was leaving him. He had never told anyone this or any other story about his time in the jungles of VN. Chuck said that the kid was so scared, he had kept him off duty, or beside him all the time. Finally after others started to complain Chuck dropped him off for gate duty, and what should have been an easy first shift, was his first and last duty in Vietnam. Who knows what else is buried? All soldiers have their secrets I guess, but I imagine having a large portion of the world turn on you makes you double doubt every decision, and Chuck the right maker never could make this ok. Chuck had held it together for a long time. He began to drink, not at the end of a bar, but from underneath the seat of his truck. He had a beautiful family, and two jobs, and everybody still loved Chuck, but he alone knew he was hiding a deep secret. Chuck lost ground quickly as their oldest graduated from high school. He no longer lived to drink, he drank to live. He became paranoid, and edgy, and even mean at times. The boy who had never missed a day of school in 12 years, and who had to be told to take his military leave, still worked day and night, but he was slipping. He was finding it harder and harder to keep his head above water, and play the life game. Almost 60,000 young men and women died in Vietnam, but the MIA's can never be accurately accounted for. Chuck had cheated fate, and got on that flight headed home, but he never made it back. His secret and the secret of so many many others who left here young and fearless, returned old and beaten. Some were able to move on, and for years you would have counted Chuck among them, but he was living a lie, and the truth always finds a way. Today Chuck is mostly homeless. I heard that on anniversaries and Christmas he still calls her and tells her that if he could, he would crawl back home. Instead he crisscrosses the parking lot of Wal-Mart looking for change, and the life ending and continuing next drink. On Friday nights he can see the lights from the stadium where he ran for glory, and is bewildered by a world that made him a hero for scoring touchdowns, but looked the other way when he returned from war. He didn't volunteer, but when his country called, he went. The thing that he can't figure out is what in the hell happened to Chuck. I hope that no matter how you feel about our war or our president you will find a way to separate the traveler from the destination. Honor is at the core of good soldier, and old soldier boy Chuck who never asked it for himself would appreciate it if you never forgot that for them. There is a poem and I couldn't find it for this story, but is is about the traveling wall. To paraphrase it goes something like this. "when the traveling wall comes to town, the number of bums on the streets go down" Way late, and probably too late, I would just like to say thanks Chuck, wherever you are. ------------ About the author: Joy Taylor, a mom, who use to be somebody's daughter. Email: canadianmounted@hotmail.com Comment on this article here! ------------ All articles are EXCLUSIVE to Useless-Knowledge.com. Please link to this article rather than copying and pasting it onto your site (which would be unauthorized and illegal). |
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